


cell block 1138

by devviepuu



Series: sanguine, adj.  'hopeful' (it also means bloody) [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Feelings Realization, Implied/Referenced Torture, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-01-30 23:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21436555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devviepuu/pseuds/devviepuu
Summary: After their meeting in 'Proximity Alert', Emma and Killian undertake a dangerous mission.  She needed help, and she'd come to him.Even if all of it was a lie, he was going to help her.He had his reasons.--loosely based on the firefly episode 'war stories'
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Series: sanguine, adj.  'hopeful' (it also means bloody) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545433
Comments: 38
Kudos: 60





	1. the space station

**Author's Note:**

  * For [profdanglais](https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/gifts).

> for @profdanglais to mark the anniversary of her birth  
this story would not exist without your encouragement.

The earpiece crackled back to life and Will said, “I think Rob was kidding about the whole imminent arrest thing.”

“Noted,” Killian growled. “Perhaps, though, we can save the criticism for later?”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Scarlet said. “Because, you know, I’ve got a lot of it.”

“Do a scan, quickly,” Killian ordered, stripping out of his party finery and pulling his customary black duster back over his shoulders. “Make sure she didn’t bring any backup.”

“Oh, now you’re worried about backup?” Will snorted. 

“Do it, Scarlet,” Killian said, flushing.

_ “Thank you, Will, for your brilliant show of initiative.” _ Scarlet mimicked Killian’s voice in an exaggerated accent. “ _ Thank you for keeping a tracker in my boot even after I ordered you not to and for leaving the video feeds live and possibly saving not only my life but that of my entire crew.” _

“I’m hearing a lot of words coming out of your mouth,” Killian said, “but none of any value.”

“Is he always like that?” 

Killian startled as she approached. The red gown was gone, replaced by no-nonsense leather boots, trousers and a long jacket. “It’s part of his process, or so he says. You get used to it,” he said. Then, to Will: “If you come up with a brilliant show of initiative for getting me not-arrested, let me know.”

“Actually,” Operative Swan said, “you should tell him that what you really need is a plan for getting not-killed.”

\--

“I’ve seen moons smaller than that space station.”

Hand on the throttle, Killian pulled down just enough to stay out of the frequency of the radar scans without losing too much altitude. Their goal loomed in front of them, taking up the entire view out the small cockpit of the unmarked Federation shuttle. 

“Yeah,” Emma said. “I hear you do a lot of business on the border moons. That’s a rough crowd, but you have quite a reputation.”

“Not all of us can make an honest living.” Killian was surprised to see her tense, her shoulders going suddenly rigid before she forced herself into a more relaxed posture.

“Still,” she said. “Dangerous in the black--but then, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Killian groaned. Of course she’d heard about that.

“It was one time,” he said.

The slightest hint of a smile flickered across her face, and faded quickly. “You were shot.”

“Yeah, a bit.” He shrugged. “It was a perfectly understandable business grievance.”

“I imagine that’s not the first time that’s ever happened to you.”

“Aye,” he said, keeping his focus on their approach as he maneuvered the flyer. “I do tend to--”

“Leave an impression,” she said. “I know.” After a moment she said, “You almost died.”

“Only a little,” he said.

She was silent; no smile, no laugh, no acknowledgement. 

“You never told me,” she said. Her voice was quiet.

“Seemed to go against the rules,” he said. “There’s no cause for worry, Swan. I’m a survivor.”

She didn’t answer.

“Emma--” Killian tightened his grip on the throttle, grateful for the gloves that covered the whiteness of his knuckles. “You know--”

“It’s fine,” she said, looking straight out the cockpit window, so that all he could see of her eyes was their reflection in the triple-layered glass. “Don’t worry about it.”

The cockpit speaker blared. “Not to interrupt all of the, uh, awkwardness,” Will said, “but I’m all hooked in on my end. You want to explain again, _ Operative Swan _, how breaking in to a space station and going up against one of the most well-connected, vindictive bloody assholes in the galaxy is going to get us not-killed?”

Emma’s jaw was set and her eyes hard. 

That expression had never once in their acquaintance been a harbinger of glad tidings.

\--

The codes Emma had for the airlock worked perfectly, and Killian felt a rush of relief as he docked the flyer on the underside of the space station. Scarlet had blacked out and looped the security feeds from his network on the _ Jolly Roger _, while Locksley settled her, shielded and out of tractor beam range. Locksley was the only one Killian trusted to pilot the ship in his absence, and as for Operative Swan--Killian trusted her.

Or at least, he _ wanted _ to trust her. He’d go to the ends of the univese for her, but trust? That was nigh-on impossible when everything about their relationship had been a lie.

Or--not everything; she’d needed help, and she’d come to him. _ To him _.

But she was lying about the why of it all, and definitely hiding something.

Even Will knew it.

“She’s lying to you,” Scarlet said over the comm.

“Will--”

“I’m not an idiot. I switched freqs and re-scrambled the link in case she’d hacked ours. In fact, Locksley and I have a bet that she did. Pretty sure that’s how she tracked you.”

Killian had come to the same conclusion. 

“I’ve been on this boat with you for six years, _ sir _ ,” Will said. “And you have gotten us into some really crazy, fucked-up shit. But this--whatever she wants to steal from Gold, it’s not part of some black-bag quasi-authorized government mission, no matter what she says. And her green emerald eyes don’t do _ nothing _ for me.”

“Will--”

“Respectfully, _ Captain _ ,” Will continued, “I feel it’s also worth pointing out that Gold is one of the few people in the entire Federation who not only knows there are warrants out on you--on _ us _ \--but knows _ you _ by sight. Personal-like, one might say.”

“I’m not an idiot either,” Killian snapped. “I know all of that.”

Killian didn’t add the part about how he was an unwitting survivor of a failed “black-bag quasi-authorized government mission”. The _ Jolly Roger _ was both a home and a daily reminder of everything he’d lost.

“Does _ she _ know all of that?” Will asked.

“I really couldn’t say,” Killian said. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” Each word dragged out over the comm and Killian could feel the spaces between the syllables full of Will’s discomfort.

“Sir,” Will said, his voice serious. “What are we doing here, exactly?”

Will wasn’t wrong to ask.

Everyone on his crew had their own tale of woe--including Will Scarlet, who probably had even less faith in the Federation and their Operatives than Killian did.

And yet Killian was certain that Emma Swan, Operative or not, had her own tale. He’d recognized it in her eyes, lurking beneath the surface in every encounter since the night they’d met; had seen it, once again, reflected in the cockpit of an unmarked Federation shuttle. He didn’t know what she wanted, or why she wanted it--but he knew that it was important to her. 

“I’m doing this for her,” Killian said. “Me, Scarlet. One of these days--” He laughed, but there was no amusement in his voice. “One of these days, maybe I’ll stop chasing this woman. But until then, tell Locksley to take the ship and get out of here--out of sight, out of range.”

“Captain--” Will started and stopped and started again. “Killian.”

“I have my reasons, Will,” Killian said. “They need not be yours. If I do this and get out clean, that’s one less Operative on all of our backs.”

“It’s also suicide,” Will said.

“Get out. Steer clear. Keep flying. That’s an order,” Killian said, and clicked off as Emma tapped on the hatch, dangling a pair of handcuffs in the porthole.

Killian stepped out into the airlock and grinned, pointing at the cuffs. “I thought you said that was a one-time thing.”

\--

It was a trap, is what it was.

If Killian needed the hint--he didn’t--it came when the cuffs clicked completely closed around his wrists as Emma made to lead him through the space station, ostensibly as a prisoner transfer. Emma had to know it would only hamper him momentarily--his left hand was slightly clumsy but far from useless, and he was well-versed in picking locks.

She wanted to slow him down.

She wanted to distract him.

Somehow it was still a surprise when the blow came, a flawless right hook straight at his jaw, her hand opening at precisely the correct moment to mitigate its impact.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just need a head start. That’s all.”

It was cold comfort as his body hit the floor.

  
  
  



	2. the time-out

The lighting was deliberately dim, the faces blurry and indistinguishable in the darkness.

_ Dark. It was dark--it was always dark, always a dark room and a bad idea. _

There was a flash of blonde hair--the only thing separating her from the other patrons of the bar, interchangeable in the face of his apathy and drunkenness. 

He was drunk, but not nearly as drunk as he’d like to be; there were too many lives under his command and in his care for that kind of public carelessness. For the purposes of this card game, however, Killian gave all appearance of staying upright by sheer force of will alone.

He needed to blend in: Get in, get out, stay clean.

Do business. 

Their eyes met and the entire room felt like it spun--once, twice--in lazy circles.

_ It was black as night and his head was pounding. _

_ “Dangerous out there in the black,” she’d said. _

_ He kept his eyes closed. If nothing else, it kept the room from spinning. _

“Your move,” Locksley muttered, following Killian’s eyes toward the bar.

Killian threw his cards onto the table and stood. Will laughed.

“That’s a bold move, Captain.”

_ “It was a bold move, coming here, Lieutenant Jones,” the voice said. The accent was broad and yet smoothed over; the speaker emphasized his sibilants, letting the ‘s’ in ‘Jones’ trail off with a hiss. _

“Hey, sailor,” she said as he came up next to her. “What were you boys playing?”

“Just a friendly round of tall card.” He smiled and signaled for another round. “And one for you…?” His voice trailed off in invitation.

“Oh, no names,” she said. “What fun would that be?” But she took the proffered drink, tilting it toward his in a toast. “But you can call me--” she paused, considering, “--Leia.”

Killian laughed. “I should call you ‘Leia?” he said.

Her eyes glittered green in the dimness of the bar lights. “If I can call you--hmm--Charlie.”

“As you wish.” Killian lifted his drink in appreciation. “Cheers, Leia,” he said.

He clinked his glass against hers.

_ The chains around his wrists clinked together as he was moved, forced upright and restrained. Time was a blur. _

The night became a blur of drinks and laughter and the green of her eyes, and she was definitely trying to get him drunk.

“What’s the matter, Charlie?” she purred. “Can’t hold your liquor?”

“Not only can I hold it,” he said, standing up and pulling her with him, “I can carry it right out the door.”

“Please,” she said, “you couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who can’t handle it, Leia,” he said. Despite the intimacy of their positions, he kept his tone deliberately casual as her spine stiffened under his touch.

Her eyes flashed, proving her more than his match in this game; Killian was unprepared when she rose on her tiptoes and pulled him against her.

She kissed him.

‘Kiss’ was too gentle a word for the way part of her seemed to pour out and into him, mingling with the taste of the spicy liquor and creating something wholly unique.

Time stopped.

_ Time stopped. _

She pushed him away, gulping in air, and then reached forward once more to pull his forehead against hers. Her hand rubbed against his jaw as they lingered in their stolen moment, drinking each other’s breath. 

_ Killian came to with a start, gasping for breath. _

If there was hesitation in their movements--reluctance to separate--surely it was because of the noise, or the crush of the people crowding the bar and the way that it made movement difficult.

Or not.

“Come upstairs with me,” she whispered.

_ “Come now, Lieutenant. Or,” the voice taunted, “is it _ ** _Captain _ ** _ Jones, these days?” _

_ The voice giggled, then turned silky. “Captain Killian Jones”--it was very nearly a sing-song--”balls and bayonets brigade.” _

He could leave--probably _ should _ leave.

Killian looked at her, saw something in her eyes.

Recognition--like they both knew something, like there might never be another moment like this one. As though if they let this moment pass--did nothing about it, let it go--it would never come again.

But she--Leia--came, on his fingers and his tongue and his cock in the darkness of the cheap rented room devoid of possessions or personality. There was only the black bag in the corner from which she pulled the silver cuffs, letting them hang in the air as she climbed back on top of him. Killian raised his eyebrows.

“Perks of the job,” she said. “Do you trust me?”

He loved her--already--but he didn’t trust her.

“Just a one-time thing,” she whispered.

“Aye,” he said, surging up to meet her, letting her push him back down against the bed. “Deal.”

_ “We had a deal,” the voice reminded him, and that was when the first blow fell. “You take your little ship, and sail until you fall off the edge of the world. I never have to see you again.” _

She left him cuffed to the bed while she cleaned up and disappeared into the small washroom, throwing a look over her shoulder as he did so.

Her jaws set, her eyes hard.

It was whiplash and yet somehow not unexpected; when Killian heard the water running, he set about extricating himself from the cuffs. 

The badge and the gun were in a hidden compartment at the bottom of the bag.

The dossier containing his profile and warrants was on her handheld.

It’s not the discovery of these things that was the shock to his system--it was her eyes, pleading in the darkness and the way her hand, skin smooth and unblemished, wrapped around his scars while her foot curled around his calf. The curtain of her hair as it fell around them, enclosing them as she had reached for the last of his clothes, freeing him from their confines.

The way that suddenly--too suddenly--she had straddled him; and in the shadows cast by the lights outside, her face was pale and certain.

_ The shock started where they’d torn his shirt--electricity being forced through his body. _

_ There was glee in the voice when the order was given, and Killian knew that someone, at least, was enjoying this; Killian just felt pain. _

_ He wasn’t screaming. _

_ Not yet. _

He had no idea why she didn’t just arrest him.

He had suspicions.

He had hopes.

(He was a bloody fool.)

_ “You were foolish,” the voice said, “to hope that you would be a sufficient distraction. My men are tracking her, and Operative Swan will be joining us shortly.” _

_ Killian squeezed his eyes, glad for the cover of the blindfold, but his breathing, already heavy, hitched as his heart skipped a beat. _

“Swan.”

Killian could almost feel her deflate from where she stood, approaching him from behind.

“Jones,” she said, sitting next to him at the bar.

Another bar, another world, another dark room.

Six months of tracking rumors of the Federation Operative known as Swan--six months of “We’re going to get caught, _ sir _,” and “This is a very bad idea, Captain” as their jobs took them, deliberately, closer and closer to her orbit.

“You found me,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.

“I’ll always find you, Jones,” she said, ordering one of her own.

“I’d be a lot happier about it, love, if that didn’t sound like a threat.”

Emma sighed. “Can’t help the way things are, Jones.”

“But--”

“But?”

“But what if we could?” He leaned toward her. “Listen, Swan, I’m not saying it makes sense. But something _ happened _. And I can’t sit here and let it go. I can’t always wonder what might have happened if I stopped and said something. It might only happen a few times in your life.”

“Or once,” she murmured.

“Or once.” His hand slid across the bar until it was just brushing the edge of her pinky. “So what if we took a time out?”

_ “Your time is running out, Jones _ . _ ” _

“Here and now, Swan. You and me, we’ll call time.”

“Then what?”

“Well, darling,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, “that’s when the fun begins, isn’t it?”

Emma picked up her glass, finishing the amber liquid in one long gulp and leaving the glass on the bar. She backed up--one step, and then another--before she turned around.

Killian left the remains of his drink on the bar as he followed.

_ The voice giggled. “Oh, Captain. We’re going to find her.” _

_ He heard the whine of the electricity just before the next shock jolted through his body. _

_ “But you and I are going to have some fun first.” _

Dark nights and dark rooms, always with so much left unsaid between them.

They spoke, instead, of the things that hardly mattered and with a sense of relief; they’d avoided the things that did, the things that had fangs. But some of those things spilled over into their bed--the things that could not be contained, no matter how hard they tried.

Killian tried to imagine they were both somewhere far away--far from themselves.

What a luxury that would be: to be better.

To be gentle.

_ “Put her over there,” the voice directed. “No need to be gentle.” _

_ Killian’s eyes snapped open behind the blindfold, as if he would be able to see her through the blackness. _

_ When the next shock came, he screamed. _


	3. echoes

Emma heard Killian scream. His back was right up against hers and the sound reverberated through her body in much the same way the accompanying electric current did as it pulled at her, forcing her back toward consciousness. She was awake, that was the first thing, even if she regretted it. It was better than the alternative--awake meant alive, and alive meant--

“Ah,” Robert Gold’s voice was slippery. Even blindfolded, Emma didn’t have to work hard to imagine the gold-toothed grin or the way his tongue licked his lips in anticipation. “Miss Swan. How lovely of you to join us.”

The current rushed through her again, and it hurt--that was the second thing--but it was still less shocking, somehow, than the sound of Killian’s voice next to her. Emma was all agony, listening, knowing that all of it was because of her, because she couldn’t, just once, _ trust _ him, not even when she had been the betrayer _ every time _. From the moment they’d met, right through the moment she’d punched him in the face and left him to be caught. 

What she hadn’t expected was to find herself strung up beside him.

The only way this ended was badly. That was the third thing.

Because if Robert Gold had her, had both of them, Emma knew what that meant. She knew the history between these two men, had known it since the first time she’d sought him out and she’d known it the instant that Robert Gold offered her a deal. It was a barely-buried hatched that Gold still wanted to put through Killian’s skull and would, finally, now that he had the opportunity.

The opportunity that Federation Operative Emma Swan had afforded him. 

Gold was going to use her, and her secrets, to break the man she loved. Killian didn’t know--she’d never told him, never said the words, but it had been there in the air all the same, unspoken and heavy and buried beneath all of the other things she had never told him. Federation Operative Emma Swan was not a woman who could love. She didn’t have that luxury--she had a purpose. She was a woman who had chased down every lead and exhausted every option until the night she’d found herself in a dark room with a bad idea--and Killian Jones.

_ I love you _.

It was always a dark room and a bad idea with Killian Jones, and this was no exception. Killian Jones, who was a man who believed in second chances--or even third ones--but he was not a man who was quick to forgive secrets. Gold knew this. Emma could hear the anticipation in his voice. At least if Killian never forgave her for this, it meant he was alive to carry the grudge.

The current ran through her again. It was a tease, a fraction of the voltage that had been used on Killian, who was sucking air behind her. If she twisted her arm just the right way, she would be able to touch him--but that would telling Gold too much. 

“We’re going to play a game,” Gold said, caressing every syllable in his relish. “And I’m going to offer you a deal. Tell me, are you familiar with the saying, ‘the deeper the lie, the more truth in its echo’?”

Maybe she should reach for Killian, to allow herself, just one more time, the comfort of his skin against hers--because Gold clearly already knew everything, and there would be no winners in this game.

\--

The rules were simple: talk, and the voltage got turned down. Withhold, and everything cranked back up.

There was no point to it, except for Gold’s glee. Their secrets--_ her _ secrets--were the only weapons he needed.

“Let’s play, shall we?” he whispered.

\--

Killian spat. “This would have been easier if you had just arrested me,” he said. 

Emma’s eyes flew open under her blindfold.

“Why didn’t you?” His breathing was still labored, and he coughed. Emma tried not to imagine that he was coughing blood, but she’d seen this type of interrogation before. There was always blood.

“You slipped the cuffs,” Emma said, trying to sound casual. She heard the hum of the electricity and knew she’d failed.

“The first time,” Killian said, before pausing for another breath. “What about the times after that?”

“I told you I’d find you,” Emma said. Her voice was barely a whisper as she contemplated the wreckage all around her: Killian would almost definitely be dead before this night was over. She might be, as well. And that left Gold with--

“Liar.” It was punctuated by another cough. “Tell me why, Swan. I deserve to know.” 

_ I love you. _ Even now, it hung in the air between them, and Emma tried to use that to pull herself upright again. 

“I’m not asking you to be with me,” Killian said. “I just want to acknowledge how we ended up here.”

Gold giggled, and Emma heard the sound of the current go up half an octave. It whined in her ears and she could feel the sound in her skull. She tried to imagine herself somewhere far away from here--anywhere else--both of them. Far from this. What a luxury that would be--to be better. To be gentle.

To be honest. Emma closed her eyes.

“You were scared,” Killian said. “We were scared. It’s the only reason that makes sense. We never put ourselves on the line because we were afraid to.” 

He sounded, suddenly, so angry. It pulled Emma right back into the moment, and the nightmare, and Emma wanted to rage at him. What right did he have to be angry about anything? So he had been dealt a shitty hand--well, so had she. She had taken her shitty hand and played it, played it until she’d lost everything. So had he. She straightened herself up, bracing herself against her restraints.

“I did what I do,” Emma said. “I had a target and an objective. You.”

“‘What you do’,” Killian repeated, incredulous. “You do that with all of your marks?”

If Emma’s blood didn’t already feel like it was boiling, she would have blushed. “It was just business.”

“Which part? The being with me, or the walking away? Or maybe it was the punch in the face?”

The current raged; Killian screamed, and Gold laughed. “Oh, Miss Swan,” he purred. “Tell him, dearie. Let’s get the true measure of him.”

Emma stiffened at Gold insinuating that _ they _ were somehow a team.

Even though it was true. 

Killian ignored him. “I don’t know what we’re doing here, Swan, but we’re past pretending any of this is business.” He spat again--blood, most likely. That was a very bad sign.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Emma said. She was yelling, and the words came in gasps. “You want to know why I walked away? You want to know how we ended up here tonight?”

She loved him. Maybe she had since that first night, since that first dark room and the first bad idea.

“I made a deal,” she said. “To find my son, I made a deal.”

Killian spat again while Emma held her breath. There was no hum of current--no shock, and no scream. There was only Gold, giggling.

He had won.

\--

“Do you ever count them, Swan?” Killian’s voice rasped but did nothing to disguise the anger, or the betrayal. Emma had betrayed him. 

Every. Single. Time.

She could feel the heat of tears under her blindfold as he said, “The people whose lives you’ve ruined, Swan, do you ever count them? Tell me. Give me an estimate. Tell me the ones who deserved it--or better, tell me the ones who didn’t.”

Gold ran the current, and Emma shrieked, a discordant harmony with Killian’s own cry. It was a primal sound, the first one she had made. It was a sound of release, and of rage, and of pain as she shook, her hands rattling against the cuffs. She coughed, a broken thing that wracked her body; Killian made a noise, and Emma could almost believe she heard sympathy.

Not for her, she thought. Not anymore.

“My son didn’t deserve it,” she said, still vibrating with emotion, anger that had cooled into something almost like relief, because--at least now he knew.

_ I love you. _

“No,” Killian said. His voice lowered. “Is that why, Swan? Why you--” he bit the word off. “Was it penance?”

The shock ran through her and Emma almost didn’t feel it. She was--how _ could _ he--he had _ no _ idea--

She loved him. She loved him. It pulsed through her in time with her coughing, in time with the sobs building up inside of her.

The tears pricked and Emma felt them fall. “You would have done the same,” she said, barely hanging on to the steadiness in her voice.

“No,” Killian said again. "I'm a man of honor." He was still angry, but Emma felt movement, his hand against hers pushing something into her curled fingers.

“Liar,” Gold growled. “Tell her, _ Captain _. Tell her what you did with her son.”

\--

Emma’s blindfold had slipped and she could see Gold’s face, the contortion of his lips into a snarl to go along with the harsh sibilants his accent slurred.

“Her son?” Killian sounded weaker with every word, but still registered surprise as he spoke. 

‘Henry,” Emma said. “His name is Henry. Henry Cassidy.”

It was Killian’s turn to stiffen, and then he gasped with pain at the effort the movement cost him. He was fading. Emma felt another surge of rage, her fingers clamped down on whatever Killian had given her, and then she inhaled, deeply, from the sharp edge cutting into her palm--

“He knows where you son is,” Gold said. “And I will honor our deal, Miss Swan, just as soon as I--”

Emma didn’t let him finish. She pulled herself free of the cuffs and heard the small sharp pick fall to the floor as she did so. Gold hissed in displeasure and she hurled herself at him. Gold was many things: rich, powerful, dangerous and terrifying. He was not, however, physically strong or commanding in any way. He went down easy and stayed down when she grabbed his walking stick and used it as leverage.

For the moment.

“He won’t be out long,” Emma warned, turning back to Killian. His blindfold was gone, and his expression was resigned. There was no time, not nearly enough to get him out--not with the small pick already lost and broken somewhere in the debris on the floor--

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “Go.” He coughed, and Emma saw the blood. It was worse than she’d imagined, to see it spatter against the wall.

“What--” Emma sputtered. “No!”

“Go, Swan. Save yourself. Save your son.” Killian said. 

Gold stirred. Emma looked at the door, with no visible lock, and thought of the long hallway beyond.

“Is what he said true?” Emma asked. “Do you know what happened to my son?”

“Go!” Killian shouted. “Now, Swan.”

“I need to know,” Emma said. She was begging. She never begged. “Tell me this wasn’t all for nothing.”

“My crew--” he coughed. “My crew will help you.”

“I’ll find you,” she said. It was a promise, not a threat.

“You always do.”

“Killian--” Emma said. She looked at him, then looked at the door again. She took a deep breath and said: “I love you.”

She yanked the door open and ran through, kicking it behind her to jam the mechanism, throwing an elbow into the electric control panel for good measure.

After that, she didn’t stop running until she reached her shuttle.

With trembling hands and freely-falling tears, Emma keyed in the ignition sequence and hailed the _ Jolly Roger _.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you still with me--WORRY NOT, FRIENDS. (and thank you SO MUCH for giving this little 'verse a chance)  
there will be another part to the story. dashing rescues, etc. will is not happy with emma, but they have an ace up their sleeve.


End file.
